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"Lord Ian has been ill?" That question was even sharper. |
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"None said so to me, but he did not come from his chamber for nigh two weeks, nor did his squires. But he is well again, lady," the man assured her earnestly. "No man who is sick can fight like Lord Ian fought this day." |
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A momentary panic induced by the news soon subsided. Alinor was not soothed by the man-at-arm's conviction that a sick man could not fight. She had seen what Ian's will could enforce on his body, but no matter how sick he had been, there could be no reason to turn a messenger away and say that Ian had never arrived at Clyro Keep. Was it she or Ian who first suggested that Sir Peter was inclining to rebellion? Alinor wondered suddenly. She moved to the next man and looked down at him. She remembered that it was Ian who had mentioned Llewelyn's desire to come to grips with his rival. Had he been sounding her out to judge her willingness to be a party to such a thing? When she disapproved so strongly, had he decided to circumvent her? Was this all some mad plot on the part of Lord Llewelyn, Ian, and Sir Peter all together to entrap Lord Gwenwynwyn into war? |
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"Pardon lady," the man-at-arms she was staring at quavered. "Lady, what have I done? Be not so wroth." |
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Hastily Alinor smoothed her features and produced a smile. "I am not wroth with you, good man, but with those who caused you to be handled so roughly." |
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The phrasing was peculiar, but a man in pain who is listening to a language not native to him makes nothing of such niceties. To him it was sufficient that Alinor absolved him of any fault. Although she was careful to guard her expression, Alinor tended the remainder of the wounded seething. If her men had been so mauled to satisfy some political purpose of Ian's clan brother, she would have a bone to pick with her husband that he would be sorry he ever presented to her. |
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